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Bad Blood (Alexandra Cooper Series #9)

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Hundreds of feet below Manhattan, a treacherous tunnel maze is inhabited by the sandhogs, teams of workers who are rebuilding New York City's deteriorating water supply system. Their dark and dangerous world turns deadly when a catastrophic explosion rips through Water Tunnel #3, sending shock waves that are felt throughout the city and inside the courtroom where Alexandra Cooper is dead-set on nailing young businessman Brendan Quillian for the murder of his wealthy wife. The blast sends Alex's case in a ...

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2007 Hard cover New in new dust jacket. brand new book Sewn binding. Cloth over boards. 416 p. Alexandra Cooper Mysteries (Hardcover). Audience: General/trade.

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All orders ship with in 24 hours except Sundays & Holidays, with a tracking #. Items ship from the US. International orders may take longer for you to receive because of ... customs. Contact us if you have more questions before your purchase we will get back to you within 24 hours. ; Alexandra Cooper Mysteries; 1.4 x 9.3 x 6.1 Inches; 416 pages Read more Show Less

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Assistant D.A. Alexandra Cooper is deeply involved in a complicated, high-profile homicide case against defendant Brendan Quillian, a prominent young businessman charged with the ... brutal strangulation of his beautiful young wife. His conviction is not a certainty: Quillian was conveniently out of town on the day of the killing, and his defense attorney seems to be one step ahead of Cooper's effort to prove Quillian paid a hit man to commit the crime. Halfway through the trial, a major catastrophe alters the course of Cooper's case. A cataclysmic explosion rips through New York City's Water Tunnel #3, a Spectacular feat of modern engineering that will be completed years in the future. Was the blast caused by terrorism? Political retribution? Or was it merely an accident? Cooper is quickly drawn into the tragedy when she discovers a strange connection linking Brendan Quillian to the tunnel workers killed in the explosion. Told with Linda Fairstein's trademark blend of brilliant detective work, cutting-edge forensics, and electrifying courtroom drama, Bad Blood is packed with the twists and turns that never fail to thrill her legions of devoted fans. Read more Show Less

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2007 Hard cover STATED 1ST PRINTING New in new dust jacket. BRIGHT SHINY, BRAND NEW Sewn binding. Cloth over boards. 416 p. Alexandra Cooper Mysteries (Hardcover). Audience: ... General/trade. Read more Show Less

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Bad Blood (Alexandra Cooper Series #9)

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Overview

Hundreds of feet below Manhattan, a treacherous tunnel maze is inhabited by the sandhogs, teams of workers who are rebuilding New York City's deteriorating water supply system. Their dark and dangerous world turns deadly when a catastrophic explosion rips through Water Tunnel #3, sending shock waves that are felt throughout the city and inside the courtroom where Alexandra Cooper is dead-set on nailing young businessman Brendan Quillian for the murder of his wealthy wife. The blast sends Alex's case in a shattering new direction — and pulls her and detectives Mike Chapman and Mercer Wallace underground to dig up ancient rivalries and homicidal secrets that may pull Alex in too deep.... Brimming with Linda Fairstein's trademark blend of brilliant detective work, cutting edge forensics, and electrifying legal drama, Bad Blood melds two distinctive and riveting New York domains with seamless authenticity and nerve-jangling suspense.

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Editorial Reviews

From Barnes & Noble
In her ninth fiction outing, Manhattan prosecutor Alexandra Cooper is tangled in troubles. Her attempt to secure a murder conviction against high-profile young business mogul Brendan Quillian has been jeopardized by the revelation that Cooper's lead witness has been sitting on an embarrassing secret. Then, a deadly explosion at New York City's third water tunnel complicates the case even further. As Alexandra wades into the mess, she begins to wonder if the strangulation of Quillian's wife was only the beginning of his misdeeds…
Publishers Weekly
In the exciting ninth Alexandra Cooper legal thriller from bestseller Fairstein (after Death Dance), the Manhattan prosecutor is confronted with the trial lawyer's greatest fear-a witness who's destroyed on the stand. When the defense attorney shows that Kate Meade, the lead witness in Cooper's circumstantial case against Brendan Quillian for the murder of his wife, Amanda, has concealed her affair with the defendant, this revelation of Meade's potential bias has a devastating effect on the prosecution's case. As Cooper struggles to recover, the case takes a whole new twist when a fatal explosion in New York City's third water tunnel, which is under construction, suggests that Amanda's death is connected with other violent acts in the Quillian family's past. While Cooper may engage in a few too many action sequences for legal purists, the crisp writing and Fairstein's enviable capacity to translate her own experience as a prosecutor into an accessible plot puts this series a cut above most entries in this crowded subgenre. (Jan.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Library Journal
An explosion that rocks the construction site of Water Tunnel #3 in New York also rocks the courtroom where Alexandra Cooper aims to prove that a young businessman did in his wife. With a national tour. Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
An explosion far beneath Manhattan's surface turns prosecutor Alexandra Cooper's ninth case (Death Dance, 2006, etc.) into a free-for-all with roots sunk deep in the bedrock of the past. Did Brendan Quillian strangle his wealthy wife, Amanda, who'd been making serious noises about leaving him, so that he could keep her money and his management job with her late father's real-estate empire? Lemuel Howell III, Brendan's silky attorney, insists that his client will be vindicated, and his cross-examination of Alex's first few witnesses certainly seems to justify his confidence. But the case is rocked by a blast in Water Tunnel #3, a construction project 60 stories underground designed to bring water to an increasingly thirsty New York-a blast that kills Brendan's brother Duke, a sandhog who worked there. Alex, who had never given Brendan's family of working-class Irish immigrants a second thought, is suddenly wrapped up in their dirty laundry. There's news from Brendan's sister Trish of a long-simmering feud between the Quillians and the Hassetts, who toiled alongside them in Tunnel #3. There's the revelation that 20 years ago, Bex Hassett, Trisha's best friend, was strangled in Pelham Bay Park during Brendan and Amanda's honeymoon. And a macabre new detail has surfaced: Somebody cut off Duke's finger before the explosion finished him. Before Alex can fit Amanda's murder into this decades-long pattern of violence and hatred, a courtroom surprise sends the case hurtling off in still another direction, and the only certainty is that it'll end deep in the bowels of New York's tunnel system. Fairstein's latest is as generously plotted as ever, with a series of fascinatingly grim locales that suither gifts perfectly-even if she can't resist whispering historical sidelights into your ear with every change of scene.
From the Publisher
"FAIRSTEIN TELLS IT LIKE IT IS."

— Michael Connelly

"A CHAMPION TELLER OF DETECTIVE TALES."

USA Today

"FAIRSTEIN REALLY KNOWS WHAT SHE'S WRITING ABOUT."

— James Patterson

"A FUN READ FOR THE LAW & ORDER GENERATION."

The Washington Post

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780743287487
  • Publisher: Scribner
  • Publication date: 1/16/2007
  • Series: Alexandra Cooper Series , #9
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 416
  • Product dimensions: 6.40 (w) x 9.48 (h) x 1.24 (d)

Meet the Author

Linda Fairstein

LINDA FAIRSTEIN, America's foremost legal expert on crimes of sexual assault and domestic violence, led the Sex Crimes Unit of the District Attorney's Office in Manhattan for twenty-five years. A Fellow of the American College of Trial Lawyers, she is a graduate of Vassar College and the University of Virginia School of Law. Her first novel, Final Jeopardy, introduced the critically acclaimed character of Alexandra Cooper and was made into an ABC Movie of the Week starring Dana Delaney. The celebrated series has gone on to include the New York Times bestsellers Likely to Die, Cold Hit, The Deadhouse (winner of the Nero Wolfe Award for Best Crime Novel of 2001, and chosen as a "Best Book of 2001" by both The Washington Post and the Los Angeles Times), The Bone Vault, The Kills, Entombed, Death Dance, and Bad Blood. Her novels have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Her nonfiction book, Sexual Violence, was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year. She lives with her husband in Manhattan and on Martha's Vineyard.

Visit her website at www.lindafairstein.com.

Biography

Linda Fairstein is passionate about putting sex offenders behind bars and had done just that many times, both in real life -- as one of New York City's premier sex crimes prosecutors -- and in her fiction, with her popular series of Alex Cooper mysteries.

Born and raised in Mount Vernon, New York, Fairstein attended Vassar College, where she majored in English literature. She went on to receive a law degree from the prestigious University of Virginia School of Law in 1972. In November of that year, Fairstein was assigned to the staff of the New York County District Attorney's office and was soon heading up the Sex Crimes Prosecution Unit, where she developed a reputation as one of the toughest prosecutors in the office's history. Fairstein spent the next two decades dedicating herself to nailing the worst of the city's sexual offenders, working on such high-profile cases as the Preppy Murder and the Central Park Jogger.

In 1993, Fairstein was named "Woman of the Year" by New Woman and Glamour magazines. A year later, her groundbreaking nonfiction book, Sexual Violence: Our War Against Rape, was named a Notable Book by The New York Times.

Fairstein's first foray into fiction writing was 1994's Final Jeopardy, which introduced the tough, savvy assistant D.A. Alexandra "Alex" Cooper -- a character close to the author's own identity -- who was well received by fans and critics. As Publishers Weekly noted, Alex's "greatest appeal lies in the warmth of her friendships, the humanness of her mistakes and her unswerving devotion to protecting the next female from harm."

Since then, Fairstein has continued to chronicle Alex Cooper's crime-solving adventures in a string of bestsellers that draws on the author's thoroughgoing knowledge of the legal system and longtime affection for the Big Apple. A believer in public service, Fairstein sits on the board of directors of several nonprofit groups, among them the National Center for Victims of Crime, Phoenix House Foundation, and New York Women's Agenda, and has also served on President Clinton's Violence Against Women Advisory Council, New York Women's Agenda Domestic Violence Committee, the American College of Trial Lawyers, The Women's Forum, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime.

In an interview on her publisher's web site, Fairstein explains that her career and her life's mission are one in the same: "I think so much more is possible in terms of what we are able to give women who have been victims of violence and how they can triumph in a courtroom," Fairstein reflects. "So to take this -- the professional life I've had over the last 30 years and to mix it with the great pleasure of writing -- is something I never dreamed I'd actually be able to accomplish."

Good To Know

Fairstein is married to Justin Feldman, a lawyer who helped run Robert F. Kennedy's 1964 United States Senate campaign.

Fairstein has admitted to having her eye on the post of United States Attorney General, and in fact interviewed for that position in 1993.

Cold Hit made President Clinton's highly-publicized vacation reading list in 1999.

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    1. Hometown:
      New York, New York and Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts
    1. Date of Birth:
      May 5, 1947
    2. Place of Birth:
      Mount Vernon, New York
    1. Education:
      B.A., Vassar College, 1969; J.D., University of Virginia School of Law, 1972
    2. Website:

Read an Excerpt

Bad Blood


By Linda A. Fairstein

Center Point Large Print

Copyright © 2007 Linda A. Fairstein
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9781585479313

Chapter One

I was alone in the courtroom, sitting at counsel's table with a single slim folder opened before me. I had studied the photograph inside it hundreds of times in my office, but this morning I stared at it again for a different purpose.

The overhead shot of Amanda Quillian on a steel gurney had been taken at the morgue, shortly before her autopsy was performed eight months ago. Circular bruises were clustered on her throat, and crescent-shaped abrasions ringed the discolored areas of her skin, outlining the exact place where someone had ended her life by crushing her neck with his hands.

"Loneliest seat in town. Prosecutor in a domestic standing up before twelve good men and true -- plus a few whacky broads mixed in -- with a wee bit of circumstantial evidence, a snitch with a rap sheet longer than a roll of toilet paper, and no idea who actually squeezed the breath out of the late, lovely Mrs. Quillian."

I looked up at the sound of Mike Chapman's voice. "I didn't hear the door open. Is it unlocked already?"

Mike's smile was readiest at any chance to tease me. He brushed back his dark hair from his broad forehead, even his eyes laughing as he shook his head while reminding me of the uphill struggle that was about tounfold at trial.

"No. Artie Tramm let me in. Said to tell you the judge gave him orders to admit the riffraff at nine fifteen. Get rid of your coffee and say a little prayer to Our Lady of the Perpetually Hopeless Case."

"It gives me such a warm feeling in my gut when the detective who made the arrest lacks conviction before even one of my witnesses is cross-examined."

"Conviction? This may be the last time you get to use that word for a while, Coop."

Mike walked toward the well of the courtroom as I stood and took the last slug of cold coffee. "Three cups should do it," I said, tossing the cardboard container into the trash can. "Three cups and several hundred butterflies floating around inside me."

"You still get 'em?"

"Put me out to pasture if I'm ever trying a major case and tell you I don't."

He looked at the blowup of Amanda Quillian's face. "She talking to you, Coop? That why you slipped up here at eight thirty?"

I didn't answer. Mike Chapman and I had worked together on homicides for more than a decade, well familiar with each other's habits. We were professional partners and close friends. Mike knew that yesterday I had asked Artie, the officer in charge of Part 83 of the Supreme Court of New York County, Criminal Division, for permission to come up early to spend an hour in the courtroom before the day's proceedings began.

The large shopping cart that had become the favorite conveyance for prosecutorial case files over the last twenty years was parked behind my chair. It was loaded with Redwelds, part of every litigator's organizational system, and within them an array of colored folders -- purple for each civilian witness, blue for NYPD cops and detectives, green for medical and forensic experts, and a few yellow ones for the names my adversary had turned over as part of the defendant's case. The lower rack held the dozens of physical exhibits I planned to introduce into evidence, all of which had been pre-marked for identification to save time during the trial.

"Hey, Mike," Artie Tramm called out as he stepped into the back of the room. "You see the game last night? The Yankees were hitting like it was a home-run derby."

"Ms. Cooper had me hand-holding witnesses till ten o'clock. I only caught the last inning. Good thing they can hit 'cause the pitching staff is having a problem finding the plate this year."

"You got a crowd growing out there, Alex," Artie said, pointing in the direction of the door. "I guess that's why they moved you to this part, so there's enough staff to control 'em. Lucky you came up when you did. Need anything?"

"I'm set, Artie. Thanks." I started to arrange my folders and notepads on the table.

"She needs a killer. She needs a stone-cold murderer I can drag in here in handcuffs before she makes her closing argument in three weeks," Mike said. "Do Coop a favor and keep your eyes open for one."

Artie laughed. "I think you got a few possibilities in the peanut gallery."

The long corridors at 100 Centre Street were bookended with oversize courtrooms, and this case had been assigned to one. The Quillian matter had been high-profile since the victim's body was found in her town house in the East Eighties, half a block away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the supervising judge had known from the time of the arraignment that the trial would draw spectators. Murder, money, and marital infidelity brought out the curious, who would fill the benches and choose sides to root for like fans at a wrestling match.

"Too bad you couldn't hear the openings yesterday. They were both good," Artie said to Mike, twisting the ends of his handlebar mustache with his right hand as he walked to the judge's bench. His left thumb was hooked on the waist of his blue serge pants, which drooped below his paunch. "Both real good."

Because Mike would testify as a witness, he was not allowed to be in the courtroom for any other parts of the trial. "Scale of one to ten, how would you rate them?"

"Mike, please don't -- "

"Go about your business, Ms. Cooper. Ignore us. Don't tell me you didn't read your own reviews in this morning's papers?" Mike grinned at me, running his fingers through his shock of black hair.

Artie was taking the judge's water pitcher to be filled. "Trust me. She was a lot better than that columnist said in the Daily News. I mean, it's not exactly like they're criticizing Alex. It's the facts that don't seem so strong. I'd give Alex a nine, but I'd give her case a three," Artie said to Mike. Then he seemed to remember that I was also there. "I hope you're saving some surprises for us."

"And Howell?"

"Ten. A perfect ten. He's so smooth. I tell you, Mike, I ever get the urge to kill somebody? Lem Howell's my mouthpiece." The door swung closed behind Artie Tramm.

"I didn't mean to stir the pot, Coop."

"Artie's right."

"About our case?"

"About Lem Howell. Did Laura give you the list of calls to make this morning?"

"She wasn't in yet when I got to your office." Mike was dressed in his trademark navy blazer and charcoal gray slacks. His pale blue shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and his rep tie unknotted and casually crisscrossed under the jacket. Both of us -- Mike, taller than six feet, and me, five ten without my heels -- seemed swallowed up by the large, empty courtroom.

"It's on her desk." I liked the flow of a trial to be seamless. Witnesses were lined up days ahead of time, placed on standby, and asked to juggle busy professional schedules to appear as needed. Most jurors became annoyed when unnecessary delays extended the length of their service. There would be things none of us could control -- the juror whose subway train gets stuck or whose babysitter doesn't show or who claims his cat swallowed a hair ball and has to go to the vet -- but Mike and my paralegal, Maxine, would monitor the lineup I had organized to keep my presentation tight.

"Anything else I -- "

"See you at one."

"Don't get short with me, kid. I'm with you on this. You just got to be realistic about our chances. I'm sorry if I broke your concentration."

"That's not all you're trying to break."

I put Amanda Quillian's photograph back in the folder and replaced it on the cart.

"So you got up here early to avoid running the gauntlet into the courtroom, you brought all the exhibits with you -- and I guess you've made your peace with Amanda."

It was something I did at the beginning of every murder trial, just my own quiet way of getting ready to go into battle. Within the hour, every aspect of this woman's personal life would be exposed to the jury -- and to the public. The most intimate details of her daily affairs would be offered up for dissection -- by me as well as by the defense -- most of them things she had talked about, if at all, only with people she trusted and loved.

As soon as the doors were unlocked, the first two rows behind me, on both sides of the aisle, would be crammed with reporters from each of the city's newspapers, and the television and radio stations, as well as stringers for the national media. The bench after that one was reserved for the victim's family -- her elderly mother, two sisters, and several of her closest friends. The rest of the audience would be a mix of locals who braved the intense heat of the June day, some who were courthouse regulars who liked the show -- no matter what the crime -- and others because cameras aren't allowed in New York State trials, meaning no gavel-to-gavel coverage of the case on Court TV. And, of course, also attending would be the young Legal Aid lawyers and my colleagues from the Manhattan District Attorney's Office, slipping in between their own calendar calls to study Lem Howell's style or lend me moral support.

I knew my case cold. I knew its weaknesses and more of its strong points than the twelve jurors and four alternates would ever hear. Some of the state's evidence had been suppressed by the judge in pretrial hearings as inadmissible or potentially prejudicial, and Howell would do his best to limit me even further with every application I made. I had already prepared for the testimony that would be elicited today. I didn't need this time to do any work.

I had used the last half hour to think about Amanda Quillian. Mike was right -- she had talked to me, over and over, through the various forms of evidence he and I had gathered in the months after her death.

I looked at the morgue photograph to remind myself of how eloquently she had told her story, from the outset, by the horrific damage done to her strong, healthy body. I looked at it to remind me of the outrage I had felt when Mike Chapman had first called to ask me to meet him at the medical examiner's office to see his victim -- one of three homicides that had occurred in Manhattan on that cool fall afternoon. I looked at it to remind me that I had been invested with the trust of those who'd loved her to seek some kind of justice for the killer -- the killers -- of Amanda Quillian.

"Detective Michael Patrick Chapman, Second Grade, Manhattan North Homicide Squad, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth -- so help you God?" The powerful voice of my adversary boomed from the doorway that one of the court officers had unlocked for him.

"Lemuel Howell the Third. My very favorite black panther," Mike said, swinging open the gate that separated the well of the courtroom from the gallery. His reference described Howell's lean, elegant frame and his skin color, not his politics.

"Alexandra, my friend, good morning." Lem rested his monogrammed leather briefcase on the floor beside his chair, then stepped over to shake hands with Mike. He reached out his arm to grasp my elbow, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. Lem had always been a toucher -- the arm-stroking, back-rubbing, hand-grasping contact kind, all the while locking eyes and willing you to engage with him.

"Hi, Lem."

"Looking cool, collected, and with a faint scent of jasmine in that perfume today," he said, lifting his nose to sniff the air near my ear.

"Lavender, actually. But thanks."

"You might find this a bit of useful information for your off-duty life, Detective. Coco Chanel believed that women ought to dab perfume on themselves wherever they might like to be kissed," Lem said, pinching my arm before he let it go.

"Then you should be sniffing a little closer to Coop's ass than her ear," Mike said, as Lem winked at me -- tapping his long fingers on my pile of folders before returning to his table. "You're looking mighty fine yourself, Counselor. Guess it's that razzle-dazzle moment for the jury."

Lem was as strong on substance as he was on style. He had been one of my first supervisors when I'd arrived in the office as a rookie prosecutor, before he left for a lucrative partnership in the litigation department of a midtown law firm.

Lemuel Howell III had the eloquence of the great black preachers, the brain and wit of a superb trial lawyer, and the looks of a leading man in a 1940s noir film -- his wavy hair pomaded into place, straight back without a part. By the end of voir dire -- in this matter a four-day exercise weeding through 182 prospective jurors -- he had most of them ready to eat out of his hand before they'd heard the first prosecution witness.

He opened the brass locks on the briefcase and placed a sheaf of papers on his desk before removing a thick, gold fountain pen from his breast pocket. Then he smoothed the front of his beige suit.

"And you, Michael Patrick? You've detected, deduced, and done Alexandra's bidding for the better part of a year, and still no perpetrator?"

"If only your client would loosen up and let me know who he paid to do the kill, maybe I could twist Coop's arm to cut him a deal."

"He can't tell you what he doesn't know, can he?"

"Save that line of bull for the jury." Mike slapped Lem on the back as Artie Tramm returned with the water pitcher and told us that he was ready to open the doors. "And go easy on her, Mr. Triplicate, you know how Coop hates to lose."

Triplicate was what the courthouse reporters called Lem Howell, not for the Roman numeral III in his name, but for his habit of phrasing his descriptions in threesomes. Yesterday, in his opening remarks, Amanda's death was "admittedly savage, barbaric, and the cowardly work of a dangerous madman"; his client was "innocent, falsely accused, and horribly distraught by his wife's untimely demise"; and the People's case was "dreadfully flimsy, paper-thin, a gossamer web of fabrications."

"Both sides ready?" Artie Tramm asked.

I nodded while Lem gave him a firm "Yes, sir."

Tramm opened the door on the far side of the judge's bench, which led to the small barred holding pen to which Brendan Quillian had been delivered earlier this morning from his cell in the Tombs. I watched as one of the officers removed Quillian's handcuffs and walked behind him into the courtroom, to place him next to Howell so jurors would not know he had been incarcerated pending trial.

The defendant was dressed in one of his elegant Brioni suits, probably for the first time since the day of his arrest. He was as tall as Mike Chapman but with a beefier build, and his brown hair was showing streaks of gray, despite the fact that he had just turned thirty-five. He fixed on me with an icy look as he crossed behind his table, a glare made all the more sinister by the cast of his right eye. Brendan Quillian had been blinded in that eye by a childhood accident, and I swiveled away from its glassy, dead stare as he squinted at me.

"Smart move," Mike whispered, oblivious to the quick exchange. "Howell's the perfect lawyer for this case."

Quillian and Howell were animatedly talking to each other.

"He's the perfect lawyer for any case."

"Your middle-class white jurors won't want to think Quillian did it -- don't understand domestic violence when it happens outside the ghetto. Your upper-class white women will think he's too handsome to be guilty, and your upper-class white men -- "

"When's the last time you saw an upper-class white man on a Manhattan jury?" I asked. "They use every excuse in the book to avoid service."

"And your blacks -- dammit, I guess everybody in the room -- will fall under the spell of the silver tongue of Lem Howell."

"I'm ready to open the doors, Mike," Artie said.

"My money's on you, kid. Make 'em believe, okay?" Mike said, slapping the table and heading to the courtroom door. "See you at the break."

He walked out against the flow of incoming traffic, while I seated myself at the table with my back to the benches. The first five reporters made a beeline for Howell. The district attorney, Paul Battaglia, had firm rules that forbade each of us from talking to the press while a case was pending. Lem Howell, however, would leak like a sieve from now until the moment of the verdict, feeding the media tidbits helpful to his client that the jury would never be allowed to hear. So I sucked it up and sat quietly in place while the officers filled the rows with curious onlookers and tried to keep order in the court.

"Put your newspapers under your seats," Tramm roared at the two hundred spectators. "No reading materials, no food or beverages, no cell phones, no talking among yourselves.

"All rise," Tramm continued, "the Honorable Frederick Gertz presiding."

The door from his robing room opened and the stern-faced Gertz, five foot six, strode into the well and climbed the three steps to his bench.

"Good morning, Ms. Cooper, Mr. Howell."

"Good morning, Your Honor," we both answered.

Jonetta Purvis, the court clerk, was standing at her desk close to the defense table.

"The defendant and his lawyer are present, the assistant district attorney is present. Shall we bring in the jurors, Your Honor?"

"You both ready to go forward? Any housekeeping to attend to?"

"Ready," I said. I pushed the indictment aside -- the written instrument that charged Brendan Quillian with "Murder in the Second Degree and Conspiracy to Commit the Crime of Murder in the Second Degree" -- and reached for the thick purple folder beneath it.

Artie stood by the door next to the judge's bench and opened it. "Jurors entering."

The group of sixteen -- the first twelve chosen and four alternates -- filed in, taking their seats in the two rows closest to my desk. They fidgeted as they settled down, some staring at Quillian and Howell, others focusing on me and the full shopping cart behind me.

It was impossible to imagine how jurors had been able to obey the judge's instructions not to listen to television accounts or read stories about the case. I stifled my desire to scan the group to see what reading materials each had brought along. Last evening's news had led with a summary of the opening-day arguments, and this morning's New York Post banner -- dial m for mogul: hubby hires hitman -- would have been visible on every subway and bus route that carried these folks downtown.

I lifted the flap of the folder and squinted at the bright yellow Post-it note stuck to my punch list of questions. It was in Lem's handwriting, slipped onto the file when he had stepped over to greet me minutes ago. Alex -- take your best shot. If you remembered half of what I taught you, you wouldn't be leading off with Kate. Beneath the warning he had scrawled another word: SHOWTIME.

Gertz's eyes swept the courtroom, making sure he had everyone's attention before he pointed his gavel in my direction. "Call your first witness, Miss Cooper."

My voice caught in my throat as I stood, and I coughed to clear it as I started the People's case. I didn't need to look over at Lem to let him know he had scored his first hit.

Copyright © 2007 by Fairstein Enterprises, LLC





Continues...


Excerpted from Bad Blood by Linda A. Fairstein Copyright © 2007 by Linda A. Fairstein. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 26 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 11, 2007

    I want to be like Alex!!

    BAD BLOOD by Linda Fairstein is a spectacular book of great charm, intellect and superbly puzzled mysteries that capture the reader from page one!! The psychological, forensic, and physical clues were written into the story just as an outstanding prosecutor would build up the evidence in a trial. Instead of being glued to the TV, I was glued to my chair with book in hand, until the final words on the final page. Information about the New York underground water tunnels and subway system added an extra dimension to this thriller--as did information about cancer and blood work. Excellent characters added a warmth that was needed to add balance to the book. Often when I start in the middle of a series from an author, I feel that I need to go back to the first book just so I can know what is happening with the characters that are brought back in the later book that I am reading. With this book, I need to go back to Fairstein's earlier books because I just fell in love with Alex, Mike and Lem and I want to see how their interactions played out in earlier books! With Firstling's research and explanations, I would gladly have her as my defense attorney, but please keep her writing books for my entertainment instead!!! Her carefully layered plot and clues built one upon another. She sutedly built this book to a fevered pitch , yet the only thing that the reader could expect was the unexpected!! One of the best crime novels where police procedurals, law, geography, and sexually violent criminal information worked together to make a perfectly completed puzzle!!! Can not wait until the next book comes out!!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted March 30, 2013

    Great book / series

    Love the Alex Cooper series. Great bunch of characters. Page turner from the get go. Really like Linda's style of writing. LOTS and LOTS of NYC history goes into these novels. This novel here you not only get a great fictional read, but you get a great trip into the underground world(subways, tunnels, old closed subway stations, etc) below the streets of NYC.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 7, 2012

    Recommended

    Love the characters and the history lessons in all of this series.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 4, 2012

    A MUST READ CHECK IT OUT !!!!

    Great book keeps you on the edge of your seat.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 13, 2012

    Excellent story

    This was my first novel by this author. I highly recommend her writing.

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  • Posted August 14, 2011

    more from this reviewer

    Linda Fairstein, Bad Blood

    In the ninth book of the series, assistant DA Alex Cooper seeks a conviction against prominent businessman Brendan Quillian for the brutal strangulation of his wife. That Brendan was conveniently out of town at the time of the murder increases the obstacles in Alex's way, but fails to convince her of Quillian's innocence. An explosion deep below the city in the midst of a massive dig to improve the city's water supply proves to be more than simply a distraction to her case when Quillian's own family seem to be involved.

    The first time I read a Fairstein mystery involving her central character Alexandra Cooper I was mildly entertained. But I have to say, I very much enjoyed this one, Bad Blood, despite my tendency to prefer foreign settings. The characters are compelling, the story was wonderfully complex with enough twists and turns to keep me wanting more. Well done.

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  • Posted January 9, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Bad Blood

    In the ninth book of the series, assistant DA Alex Cooper seeks a conviction against prominent businessman Brendan Quillian for the brutal strangulation of his wife. That Brendan was conveniently out of town at the time of the murder increases the obstacles in Alex's way, but fails to convince her of Quillian's innocence. An explosion deep below the city in the midst of a massive dig to improve the city's water supply proves to be more than simply a distraction to her case when Quillian's own family seem to be involved.

    The first time I read a Fairstein mystery involving her central character Alexandra Cooper I was mildly entertained. But I have to say, I very much enjoyed this one, Bad Blood, despite my tendency to prefer foreign settings. The characters are compelling, the story was wonderfully complex with enough twists and turns to keep me wanting more. Well done.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 7, 2008

    Wondered if it would ever end ...

    I enjoyed the other books by the author but I had to make myself finish this one. And I was disappointed with the ending. It does seem like the author writes from experience, which is good. However, this book just missed the mark somewhere.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted February 19, 2007

    Keeps you on the edge of your seat!!!

    Particularly exciting and fast paced! An excellent read based on the true events going on now regarding New York's water tunnels. I love Ms. Fairstein's novels for their authenticity. Highly recommended!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 22, 2007

    BAD BLOOD TOPS THE LIST

    MS. FAIRSTEIN has outdone herself this time. This is a non-stop read. You are kept in suspense from the time you start reading chapter one until you finish reading the last chapter, and even the Acknowledgements, wondering what will happen next. You won't be wondering for long what mess Alex Cooper has gotten herself into this time, and if her partners in crime, Detectives Wallace and Chapman, will rescue her in time. And in the middle of investigating the case involving sandhogs and several homicides, Ms. Cooper officiates at the wedding of her childhood friend up at Martha's Vineyard. 'Whats a sandhog?' you ask. You'll have to read this masterpiece to find out. What are you waiting for? Get out to your local bookstore and get the book. You won't be disappointed.

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    exciting legal thriller

    Manhattan prosecutor Alexandra Cooper knows proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that Brendan Quillian killed his wife Amanda will be difficult especially since the businessman has an out of town alibi, but she feels she has a strong case. Quillian is in trouble based on powerful circumstantial evidence. However, countering it is the testimony of Kate Meade, a friend of the accused since they were teens and a wife and mother she is the ideal witness. Alexandra completes her questioning feeling rather good about where she ended. That is until Quillian¿s defense attorney Lemuel Howell affirms that Kate and Brendan were having an affair the credibility of this important witness falls apart. Cooper is shook because the revelation was hidden from her by Kate. --- Cooper struggles to regain the upper hand in a trial that has fallen somewhat apart. However, an explosion rips the third water tunnel construction site that should have nothing to do with the Quillian murder trail, but does as Alex finds a link to Brendan. As she digs deeper into the Quillian connection to the water tunnel explosion, Copper places herself in jeopardy seeking conclusive proof that Brendan is a cold blooded killer. --- BAD BLOOD opens with a gripping courtroom scene and never slows down after that until the final confrontation in a dark tunnel. This legal thriller is as equally exciting during the trial scenes and the investigative scenarios. However, some like this reviewer do have problems with prosecutors playing the role of undercover ¿cops¿ rather than letting the pros do the job. That quibble aside, sub-genre fans will receive plenty of entertainment as Cooper struggles to save a case that unraveled over an affair. --- Harriet Klausner

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    Posted February 12, 2011

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    Posted January 23, 2010

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    Posted January 28, 2011

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 11, 2013

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    Posted March 24, 2012

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    Posted December 29, 2011

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    Posted July 11, 2011

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